


How Dean Winchester Says "I love you"

by lifeofsnark



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean Winchester/Lisa Braeden - Freeform, Gen, Including Sam and Dean, Non-sexual Wincest, Past Cassie Robinson/Dean Winchester, This isn't about sex, it's about the bond between Dean and other people, that's about it, uhh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-21
Updated: 2015-10-21
Packaged: 2018-04-27 11:18:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5046391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lifeofsnark/pseuds/lifeofsnark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is exactly what it sounds like- Dean may never come out and say he loves someone in that many words, but no one can doubt the depth of his affections.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Dean Winchester Says "I love you"

**ONE**

It’s something he says in the witching hour, that long silent stretch of night when it feels like morning will never come.

He first said it to Sam, the brother he’d snatched out of his father’s arms and carried from a burning house; the brother that had (in not so many words) become his reason for existence. Sam had crawled into bed with his older brother, his skinny little body occasionally wracked with shivers. It was January of 1992, about a month after Dean had admitted what exactly John did; about month after Sam heard for sure that monsters were real.

“What if Dad doesn’t come home?” Sam had whispered into the warm skin of his older brother, twitching as the wind rattled the cheap windows of their motel room.

“Dad’ll come back,” Dean had rasped, one hand rubbing slowly up and down his little brother’s back. “He always comes back, he’s the best hunter out there.”

“How do you know?”

Sam was always asking that. “How do you know?” “Why?” “But how does it work?” He always wanted more information, wanted proof.

“Because the other hunters say so, even Bobby and Pastor Jim. They all want to work with Dad, but Dad works by himself.”

Pride tinged Dean’s voice, pride in the father that had been away for almost three weeks.

“But what if he doesn’t come home.” Sam was stubborn. “What if he doesn’t? People will try to take us to foster care like Dad always said, and they’ll separate us and-“

“I’m not going to let anything happen to you, Sam. I’ll take care of you. You don’t have to worry about it, though, Dad’s coming home.”

“Okay, Dean,” Sam had mumbled tiredly. His body slackened, his breathing evened out, and he was asleep, secure in the warmth of his brother’s love.

Dean had said the same thing to Lisa one night, a few weeks after the field and the devil and Sam’s jump into hell. She’d already gone to bed- she had the early shift at the hospital in the morning- but Dean had been restless and had stayed downstairs a little longer.  At some point when the house was quiet and there were no more late talk shows to be watched, Dean headed up to bed.

He’d stopped at the first door on the right, opened it a crack, and peered inside.

Ben was sprawled on his bed, belly to the mattress, face turned to the left. For a second Dean was so strongly reminded of Sam at that age that his knees went week; that he had to grip the edge of the doorframe and remind himself that he was here now; here with Lisa and Ben and a world free of Lucifer.

He quietly closed Ben’s door, eased his way into the master bedroom, and undressed down to his briefs in the dark. He shuffled his way over the bed, tugged back the covers, and slipped into bed beside Lisa.

She stirred, mumbling a muffled, sleepy something as she rolled into Dean’s body, draping one arm across his chest, nuzzling her face into the hollow of his shoulder.

In that moment, at that simple, sleep-softened touch, Dean Winchester was consumed with love for this woman. She’d been a hot, wild twenty-something when they’d first met. Now she was the woman who had taken him in- wild and broken with grief- no questions asked. Now she was a mother, fierce in the protection of her son. Now she was more vulnerable, less willing to take risks, less willing to let someone in-

-but she’d done it for Dean. She’d done it for him, the least worthy of men. “I’m not going to let anything happened to you,” Dean had murmured, his breath stirring the fine wisps of hair on her forehead. He slid his hand over the edge of the bed and down, feeling the cool barrel of the shotgun under his fingertips.

He knew he’d led trouble to their door; trouble follows a Winchester wherever he goes.

“I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

He fell asleep.

**TWO**

“I don’t want to do it alone.”

That was the second way Dean said ‘I love you’, and he said it twice within a few months.

The first had been to Cassie, just a few weeks before he told her the truth, all of it- about his family, about their work, about the world.

They’d been lying in bed, which wasn’t unusual for them- after all, it’s how all of this had gotten started- and Dean had been idly tracing patterns on the smooth skin of her back and she’d asked what he’d been thinking about.

“Tracking dad down again, it’s about that time.”

“Yeah? You’ve had to do it before?”

“Yeah, but not since Sam left for college. We stuck closer since it was just the two of us.”

“You’ll be okay.” She hopped up, shimmied into her discarded panties, clipped her bra and tugged it up her torso.

Dean snagged her around the waist, tumbled her down on top of him on the bed. “Come with me.”

“Come with you?” She playfully smacked up, scooted off to the edge of the mattress. “I’ve got finals in a week, work, bills to pay- I can’t just come with you.” She kissed him and then hopped up, trying to track down her pants.

“C’mon. You and me in the Impala, cruising down the road, being together every day- it’d be fun.”

“Yeah, we should take a roadtrip sometime,” she commented absently, looking for her work shirt.

Dean sighed and she paused to look him, to really look at him. “I know you miss your brother, Dean. I do, I get that. But you can’t stop doing your job (she thought that he and John and Sam ran some kind of freelance security business) because you miss your brother. You can do this alone.” She kissed the top of his head and then finished buttoning her blouse.

“I know.” He looked up at her, wrapped his arms around her waist, and pressed his forehead into her belly. “But I don’t want to”.

The next time he was with Sam, and Jesus, hunting with Sam had been like regaining the use of a severed limb-everything that had felt off or wrong or awkward about every other hunt had gone away and they’d fallen into old patterns as easily as breathing. Dean didn’t know how Sam didn’t feel it- on the drive back to Stanford that’s all he could think about, all he could focus on. It felt  _right_ to be hunting with Sam, it was  _right_ to have him back in the car bitching about the music and Dean’s choice in fast food, it felt  _right_ to be back together.

And Sam wanted to go back to school and break that up again. That was just _wrong._

They pulled up in front of the old duplex Sam and his girlfriend Jess were renting.  Sam got out and stood on the sidewalk, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his old brown hoodie.

They looked at each other, a long, spun-out moment- “I can’t do this alone,” Dean murmured, glancing out at the road and then back at his brother.

“Yeah, you can,” Sam said easily, not breaking eye contact.

“Well, I don’t want to.” Dean scowled, glanced down at his lap.

“My interview is in ten hours, Dean. Maybe we can meet up afterwards.”

“Yeah, maybe. See you around, Sammy.” Dean put the car in gear and slowly rolled off, taillights glowing red.

Sam turned and went into the house.

**THREE**

Sam’s head was heavy on Dean’s shoulder, his body a weight on body and soul alike.

“Sam!” he screamed, rocking slightly, trying to ignore how his brother’s head lolled. “Sam!”

Fifteen minutes later is voice was hoarse, his throat screamed raw. He propped Sam up from how he’d slumped, almost bent double, against Dean’s body.

“C’mon Sammy,” Dean whispered into the sun-streaked hair. “I can’t do this without you. I can’t.”

~~~

“Singer. You know what to do.”  _At the tone, please record your message. Otherwise you can hang up, or press one for more options._

“I can’t do this without you Bobby, so pick up the damn phone. I swear to god if I have to try to explain empathy to Sam one more time I am going to strap my beautiful mind brother in the car and drive off the damn pier.’

‘I can’t do this without you Bobby. I’ve got people all around me asking what I want, who I’m loyal to, why I don’t trust my brother’s word that they’re  _family,_ they’re trustworthy. Yeah, well fuck them. Where were they when Dad died and left us alone, where were they when Satan was walking around on earth, huh?’

‘I need you Bobby, I really do. You’ve been there for us since I remember, since Dad dropped us off on your porch. Please call me back, man. I hope everything’s okay.”

*dial tone*

~~~

“Sam, if you finish this, if you complete this last trial, you’ll die.”

Sam looked at Dean, his face flushed, his eyes wild. “So?”

“So you’ll die, Sam, really die! Do not come back, do not go to heaven, do not collect two hundred dollars! It isn’t worth it; it isn’t worth it man!”

“How is locking all the demons back in hell for forever not worth it Dean? How is my life not worth that?”

Sam squinted through the sweat and tears rolling down his face, earnestly looking to his older brother for the answers one more time.

“Because all of this, all of this shit going on up here, I can’t do this without you. You and me, we’re a team, we’ve done this as a family or not at all. I can’t do this without you, man, and I won’t.”

~~~

The heart monitor flatlined, a drone that buzzed through their teeth and into their ears, a cutting tone that the Winchesters could hear over the sound of doctors and nurses calling across the bed to one another; that they could hear over the sound of the crash cart being wheeled into place and the squeal of the defibrillator.

Finally, what felt like eons later, the medical team backed away from the bed.

“He’s gone.” A doctor clapped Dean on the shoulder, looked in his eyes as he gave the stunned Winchester the news. “You can say your goodbyes before we move him.”

Sam and Dean paused in the doorway, still in denial, still in shock.

They approached the bed where their surrogate father lay, where their biggest supporter and oldest ally slowly cooled.

Sam said his goodbyes- thanking Bobby for everything he’d done, telling him he would think of him and hope he was in heaven- before stepping out of the room.

“Dammit Bobby.” Dean’s throat tried to close up and he swallowed hard, blinking up at the ceiling to keep the tears from falling. “Dammit. I can’t do this without you, you know. The leviathan are walking around taking over the country, Cas has gone off the deep end and –“

Dean laid his head on the bed, Bobby’s still-warm hand held between two of his own. “I can’t do this without you, man. I’m going to miss you so much.” He smoothed the covers over Bobby, squeezed his hand one last time, and left the room, not stopping to look back.

**FOUR**

“I know where I’m at my best, and that is right here, driving down crazy street next to you.”

Sam looked at his brother, really looked at him. It was the first time in years- too many to count- that Dean had said they were better together. Usually Dean was saying Sam would be better off without him, that he was going to get Sam killed and that Sam should get out, find a woman, have a bunch of fat babies for Sam to teach.

It was the first time in years Dean admitted to really, truly needing Sam in that many words- not that he didn’t want Sam dead, not that he didn’t care for Sam, but that he needed him.  

To Sam, Dean might as well have hired sky-writers to emblazon  _I love you, man_  across the horizon.

**FIVE**

If Sam was asked how Dean said “I love you,” he’d probably laugh. If he thought about it, though, there would be one phrase that stuck out to him and would  _only_ stick out to him. It had been his reassurance in the night, his comfort in pain, the reason he kept slamming himself against Lucifer’s hold on his mind.

“I’m here,” Dean would mumble when Sam was little and woke up from nightmares. He’d cuddle his brother or tell him stories, reassuring him that Sam wasn’t alone, wasn’t going to be afraid and small forever.

When Sam killed his first witch- “ _a human, Dean, she was a human”-_  and threw up in the backyard of the coven’s house Dean had wandered out to rub Sam’s back, to murmur,  _I’m here_ while Sam gagged and heaved and spit out phlegm- nothing left in his stomach to purge. Sam had expected taunts, teasing, even a lecture about  _this is the family business, Sam, this is what we do._ But instead Dean stood by quietly, warm and close, only stopping to murmur  _it’s okay Sam, I’m here, it’s gonna be okay.”_

Dean had said it again years later in a deserted old cemetery outside Lawrence, Kansas. Michael had been wearing like Adam like an ill-fitting suit; the devil had been in Sam.

It wasn’t until years later that Sam learned how Dean had come to be there, in that field, and at that time. But the thing that mattered was that he was there- he was there to taunt Lucifer, he was there to reassure Sam-  _it’s okay, I’m here, it’s gonna be okay-_ even as Sam’s hands beat Dean bloody, even as Sam’s knuckles broke Dean’s face in at least three places.

That’s the reason Sam was able to push Lucifer out of the way; the reason he was able to open the portal and launch himself- and the devil- into hell. Dean was there, Dean said it was going to be okay  _so it had to be okay._ That’s how it worked.

Dean said it again in an abandoned church while angels fell from the sky like stars; while Sam staggered to the hard-packed earth, while the world changed- again- around them.

“How can I stop,” Sam asked, his legs barely supporting him, most of his weight being propped up by Dean.

“You let it go, brother, just let it go,” Dean said calmly, his words carrying that much more weight.

“I can’t.” Sam groaned and staggered towards the door, towards the car that had been their home and safe place for longer than Sam could remember.

Dean swung himself under Sam’s arm, supporting Sam’s weight out of the church, down the steps. “We’ll figure it out just like we always do.”

Sam staggered, fell to the ground beside the Impala. Dean crouched in front of his brother, his back to the angel-filled sky.

“It’s okay, Sam” he murmured as his brother’s pain-glazed eyes fixed on the heavens. “It’s okay, I’m here.”

He moved to prop his brother up, tugged Sam against his body as they sat against the car and watched angels burn their way into the atmosphere.

**SIX**

“You, with a wife and kids and- and- and grandkids, living til you’re fat and bald and chugging Viagra- that is my perfect ending, and it’s the only one that I’m gonna get.”

Sam felt tears prick his eyes, and he blinked hard to stop them.

**SEVEN**

In a church on the edge of nowhere Dean told Sam he loved him- at least, he came as close as he ever would.

Dean had looked into his brother’s face- haunted, feverish eyes, gaunt cheekbones, pale skin- and told him that there was nothing-  _nothing-_ past or present that he would put in front of him.

As far as Dean was concerned, that covered the future too.

**EIGHT**

Mostly Dean’s love is in the things he doesn’t say.

It’s in the way he remembered how Lisa took her coffee- he remembered for nine years.

It’s in the way he remembered the books Sam wanted to read- how those particular publications would find their way into the Impala or motel room or squat. The first few times Sam asked how Dean had gotten them; after that he appreciated them enough not to ask.

It’s the way he would leave a girl a note taped to a fresh pot of coffee, his phone number printed at the bottom “just in case”.

It’s the way he would sometimes “accidentally” buy Sam’s favorite treat and not be able to finish it.

It’s the way he had of finding things that needed to be done for little old ladies, or handicapped people, or people too poor to do it themselves: dishwashers got fixed, cars got oil changes, showerheads suddenly spit water out evenly.

It’s in his unflagging support- once you’ve earned the loyalty and regard of Dean Winchester, it’s pretty much something you keep for life.

It’s in the way he does whatever it takes to make someone happy, to do what is best for them no matter the cost for himself.

Dean Winchester may not actually  _say_ I love you-

-but no one who knows him can doubt, even for a second, that Dean Winchester is a man who loves, and loves deeply

-so deeply that he doesn’t need to say it at all. 


End file.
